Facing Facts
by fennecfawkes
Summary: Harry/Draco.  Longer, fluffier  sequel to Fictionland. It's been 60 days and the fan fiction-following couples are over and done, but that doesn't stop Harry from falling for the one person you always knew he would. EWE, not my guys.
1. Filth

George was dirty, and not in a good way.

At first it seemed fine, maybe even endearing—a pile of spellbooks there, a mound of dirty balled up socks there—but in time, it just became grating. Granted, it probably hadn't been Harry's wisest move to shack up with his new boyfriend so shortly into their relationship. It was wise, he thought, to hold onto Grimmauld Place in case this ended. And he always knew it would. But he didn't know how to do it, which was unfortunate, considering he was going to have to be the impetus.

By all accounts, George was completely satisfied, even still a bit starry-eyed, in regards to their relationship. And in some sense, Harry didn't blame him. The sex was brilliant, the banter was great, and the daily routine was kind to both of them, particularly George: shagging in the morning, working during the day, Harry taking a break to cook in the late afternoon, dinner, a film or _Top Gear _reruns, another shag, and then bedtime. It was comfortable, sure, but all those habits, the messiness, the refusal to discuss anything serious without turning it into a joke, and the lack of willingness to leave the house or shop with any kind of regularity. They'd only been together two months, but to Harry, it felt like he'd been putting up with it for years.

And that was how he found himself in Hermione's living room, sipping a cup of tea laced with amaretto and explaining his perceived problems to the only best friend he still had in England. Ron had moved to California with Oliver after school ended, and Harry and Hermione had hardly heard a word from him since. Hermione herself was supposed to be on research holiday with Draco, but that had been called off abruptly only days before. When Harry asked if they were still together, Hermione shrugged.

"I don't think so, no, judging by what we called each other last time we were together," she said, and that was the end of that discussion. "We're here to talk about you, though, Harry."

"Right. Well. I think you understand the situation. George is great, but probably not great for me."

Hermione nodded. "He's holding you back, right? There's so much more you could be doing than helping run the shop and making dinner."

"And shagging. We still have shagging," Harry added. Hermione rolled her eyes and he grinned. "Sorry. Just looking at the bright side here."

"Do you agree, though?" she asked.

"Yeah, I suppose. I dunno, though. I just looked at him one day and thought, 'This really isn't right.'"

"That's almost exactly what happened with Draco and me," said Hermione. "We were talking about the physical properties of the lethifold and the body it leaves behind post mortem—"

"Of course you were."

"And then he looked at me with the oddest expression and commented that the only person he knew with worse hair than mine was you—"

"Oi! Why'd he have to say that?"

"And then I told him that he should go back to slicking his back so people can see just how rodent like his features are, and I don't even know where that came from, Harry, I don't!" she said hastily as Harry laughed over her words. "And then he said there was somewhere he needed to be, and I asked where, and he said, 'Anywhere but here with you,' and he gathered his things and he Apparated and that was the end of that."

"I'm really sorry, Hermione."

"It's fine," she said. "And I actually mean that. It's like he meant nothing to me all of a sudden."

"That's how I feel about George, and that's what gets to me," said Harry. "He still thinks he loves me, but how can he when I don't feel anything more than entertained by him?"

"The sex is entertainment, then?"

"Well, for lack of a better descriptor..."

"You can be quite a prat sometimes, Harry Potter."

"Oh, I know that. Your former love has told me that on more than one occasion."

"That sounds awful, doesn't it?" Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Draco Malfoy, my former love."

"This is still all your fault, you know," said Harry, summoning a butterbeer from the fridge, opening it up, and taking a swig. "You and that damn fan fiction."

"I know, I know," she said wearily. "I tried to stop it and you know that. And thanks for asking for the butterbeer."

"Hey, we both have an open refrigerator policy and you know it."

"I do." Hermione looked at him fondly. "So are you going to break up with George, then?"

"Kind of seems like I should, doesn't it?"

"Is it odd to you that we both lost interest in our respective boyfriends around the exact same time?" Hermione asked slowly, as though she was figuring something out as she spoke.

Harry shrugged. "Maybe."

"I mean, we're looking at the exact same day. You said Tuesday, right?"

"Right."

"Very odd, really," said Hermione, narrowing her eyes. "Do you think..."

"No idea, Hermione." Harry put down his bottle and picked up his wand, which had been resting on the table next to him. "I'm going to go home and break up with my boyfriend now, if you don't mind."

"Good luck."


	2. Zion

"George?"

"Hi, love," George said cheerily, kissing Harry on the cheek. "I bought us dinner since you seem to have opted out of cooking tonight."

Harry hesitated and shifted from foot to foot. "Before we eat..."

George sighed and laughed a little. "We're going to break up, aren't we?"

"How did you know?" Harry asked, noting that his tone hardly captured just how surprised he was.

"Well, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm kind of a crap boyfriend," George said apologetically. "I'm filthy as fuck, I don't ever volunteer to make dinner, and whenever you bring up how you'd like to take a job somewhere that isn't the shop, I put my hand down your trousers so you'll forget you ever entertained the thought." George paused. "But the sex has been good, right? You shouldn't take that one away from me."

"Yes, the sex has been terrific," said Harry. "And you're taking this awfully well."

"Well, Harry, we've been together, what, 63 days now?"

"You've counted?"

George gestured behind Harry's head at a three-month calendar on which the date May 15 was covered with a heart. If Harry remembered correctly, it was June 17.

"Oh. Right. Good mental math there."

"Mental math?"

Harry shook his head. "Never mind. So you're really OK with this?"

"Oh, absolutely. I'm definitely not good enough for you," said George, sounding cheerful. "The messiness, and the sex as a distraction, and the unhelpfulness, and the way I look entirely too long at other blokes."

"You really do," Harry agreed. "You'll be great for someone more lenient and less neat and slightly more sex crazed, though I don't lack too much in that department, do I?"

"It's been lucky for me, sure," George said with a sigh. "But I think I'm OK with all this. So you'll be moving back to Grimmauld Place, then?"

"Sure."

"I'll help. May as well help with something, right?"

Harry kissed George on the cheek. "May as well."

Moving didn't take long, considering that the extent of Harry's personal possessions was not particularly extensive, and Grimmauld Place already housed much of what he owned. Harry turned down George's offer of one less shag, though he couldn't quite pinpoint why, especially after George left and Harry's bed, despite Grimmauld Place's typically warm temperature, felt terribly cold. After two hours of sleeplessness, Harry made himself some tea and propped himself up on his multitude of pillows, digging his battered copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages _out of the trunk nearest his bed and began reading.

Minutes later, he heard an odd sound at the mistakenly cracked window. Harry peered over at the dark form that was gliding into his room, across the floor, and up the side of his bed. It looked quite a bit like his cloak, so he simply peered at it with curiosity until realizing what it was.

"What the _fuck _is a lethifold doing in London?" Harry asked no one, slapping at the creature with his book. The lethifold seemed unaffected by the pummeling and slithered ever closer to Harry, latching itself onto his arm and going for the face before Harry heard a banging noise from the window, which flew open, as if by magic.

"Get away from him, Zion," a familiarly drawling voice said firmly. The lethifold seemed to relinquish its hold on Harry and even shrunk back slightly as Draco Malfoy made his way across Harry's bedroom. Harry, shirtless and, in fact, trouserless, pulled his sheet over himself so Malfoy—was he Draco now, considering his relationship with Hermione, or had he reverted back to Malfoy now that they'd broken up?—couldn't see quite as much as he did when he'd walked, well, flew, more like, into the room. That is, if he'd bothered to look, and he might not have, considering where his attention had been.

"Zion?" Harry asked in disbelief. "He's ... it's ... the lethifold's your _pet_?"

"Yes, Potter, he got attached when I was visiting his colony." So Malfoy it was, then. "He's not quite domesticated yet, but he's a fine companion. I'm proud to say that the Manor's yard is now completely devoid of pests." Malfoy draped the lethifold around his neck; though Harry hadn't known that lethifolds made any sort of noises, considering their behavior during attacks, but the beast seemed to be purring.

"And what's he doing in my room?"

"That I don't know," Malfoy admitted, stroking one end of the lethifold, presumably the side Malfoy had decided was its head. "He's never left my flat before, except for when he was clearing the Manor's yard. I suspect it has something to do with his attraction to solitary environments." Malfoy smirked. "Though I'd never thought of you as the solitary type, Potter. Did you break up with Weasley? Are you lonely and heartbroken?"

"Though it's not really any of your business, Malfoy, yes, I did, and no, I'm not. George wasn't what I was looking for." Harry didn't know why he'd felt the need to tack on that detail. Maybe it had something to do with the way Malfoy was casually sitting on the chest of drawers across the room from Harry, ankles crossed. Or maybe it had something to do with Malfoy's hair hanging loosely across his forehead, somewhat obscuring the boy's—man's, Harry supposed—steely grey eyes but somehow highlighting his defined cheekbones and pale pink lips. How Harry could see all this in the pitch dark, he couldn't quite tell. But he could. And it was ... unusual, but only unusual in the best possible way.

"Not what you were looking for. Were you looking for his sister, maybe?"

Harry snorted. "Hardly."

"So you are gay, then? Couldn't be sure if you were just trying to find your footing, as it were."

"Why were you trying to determine that, anyway?" Harry stretched his arms over his head and leaned back, keenly aware of the way Malfoy's eyes drifted down his body. Malfoy seemed to snap back as he noticed Harry noticing and abruptly jumped down from the chest of drawers.

"I wasn't," said Malfoy shortly. "I apologize for Zion's behavior. I won't be allowing him to strangle any peacocks anytime soon, you can be sure of that."

With that, Malfoy slipped back out of the window and Harry shook his head, lying back, drifting off to sleep, and trying his best not to think too much about Malfoy's retreating backside.


	3. Sixty

"You didn't tell me Malfoy brought back a lethifold from your pilgrimage," Harry said to Hermione, surprised at how accusing his tone sounded. The two of them were on the back porch of Grimmauld Place, drinking lemonade and enjoying the balmy July weather. They'd just rehashed their interviews at the Ministry, Harry for a position in Magical Games and Sports, Hermione for one in Spell Research. Like everyone else, Hermione had been shocked to learn Harry didn't want to become an Auror, but she understood, unlike everyone else, that Harry was simply ready for a break from fighting evil. His interview with former professor Grubbly-Plank had gone quite well, as had Hermione's with Tofty, the same man who'd administered some of their OWL and NEWT practical exams. But now, Harry wasn't thinking of his interview. He was thinking of the night one week ago when Malfoy had crawled through his window.

"How'd you know that?" Hermione shuddered. "I hated that thing. He gave it a name and everything. He claims it got attached to him, but he's the one who's attached. It was even there around his neck when we broke up. Or whatever that was."

"I only know because it came through my window two weeks ago," Harry said. "And Malfoy followed it."

"What? How? Why?"

"Hell if I know," said Harry. "But it was there, and it tried to hurt me, and then Malfoy called it off and we had a brief conversation that ended extremely awkwardly. Is he gay, by any chance?"

Hermione looked thoughtful. "Possibly. I had my suspicions. He dresses so well, and his flat is extremely well decorated, and he didn't ever have any interest in sleeping with me."

"Really? Because that's all that George seemed to care about most of the time."

"We did snog quite a bit, but he never touched my breasts, which was strange, because when I was with Ron, that's about all he did, unless he—"

"You don't have to keep going with that," said Harry.

Hermione laughed. "I don't know why the lethifold would've come here, though. There is one explanation, but it's just so off the mark that I don't understand how it's possible."

"And what's that?"

"Well, lethifolds are more complex than anyone really realizes, in an emotional sense. They're quite like us, in a way," Hermione said fondly. Harry avoided gagging as she continued, "And they have an innate sense of what the nearest human seems to need, and where to find it. Now, I don't know why Draco would have needed you. Maybe there's something or someone threatening him and he needs your protection."

"Well, that's no good."

"But it's better than the alternative, isn't it?" Hermione smiled wryly.

"What alternative?"

"Draco Malfoy could be in love with you, Harry," she said, looking as though she was holding back a laugh.

"I don't think that's true somehow," said Harry, feeling a bit sick.

"Well, he did seem to quite like me for a few weeks. 60 days of delusion, I call it now."

"Wait. 60 days? That's how long I was with George, too."

"And how long I was with Ollie!"

Harry and Hermione turned around to see Ron standing behind them. Ron was wearing sandals with straps, what looked to be paper thin shorts, possibly made of paper, and a tight t-shirt. He looked nothing like what he used to—and Hermione, from the expression on her face, seemed not to mind at all.

"You and Ollie—Oliver—aren't together anymore?" Harry asked. "And it's nice to see you, by the way."

"Nice to see you, too. And you, Hermione. I'm going to go get a glass from the kitchen." Ron ran inside and Harry exchanged a look of confusion with Hermione.

"60 days," she marveled. "So strange."

"Right. About as strange as Ron looks."

"He doesn't look strange. He looks wonderful."

Harry laughed and Hermione struck him on the arm.

"Oi, you two fighting over me, then?" Ron asked, pouring himself a glass of lemonade and sitting down next to Hermione so the three of them were facing each other in a semi-circle. "I know I look good."

"Sorry, Ron. You're not my type," said Harry with a grin.

"My brother, but not me? I'm hurt, Harry. At least I can count on you, right?" Ron looked at Hermione, who blushed.

"You said you were with Oliver 60 days?"

Ron nodded. "I just looked at him one morning and didn't really like his muscles or his smile or his hair anymore."

"He always did have awful hair," Harry agreed. "It's just really weird, don't you think? I broke up with George on our 63rd day together, but I'd been putting it off for three days."

"And Draco and I had a fight on the 60th day and I was back in London within minutes," said Hermione. "Apparently Harry's good at dragging this kind of thing out."

"Three days isn't that many, is it?" Harry looked to Ron for affirmation.

"Not too long," Ron said agreeably. Harry smiled, glad to have his best male friend back. And from the way Ron's hand was grazing rather closely to Hermione's arm, the two of them seemed quite glad, too. Ron confirmed that with his next comment. "I'm hoping three days is long enough for the two of us to be back together."

"Ronald!"

"What? You know we still loved each other, even when we didn't."

"That doesn't make any sense," Hermione said.

"No, it makes all the sense in the world," Ron insisted, putting his hand on her shoulder and squeezing. "Will you help me forget about how mental the last 60 days have been?"

"Only if you'll help me do the same," said Hermione, grinning.

"I'd say I don't believe this, but I do," Harry said, shaking his head as Ron kissed Hermione on the cheek and the two of them held hands. "Now what am I supposed to do, pretend I'm interested in women and find someone that way? I know the whole hero thing hasn't played out quite yet."

"There's always Draco, you know," Hermione said with a giggle.

"Malfoy? Why him?" Ron looked confused.

"No reason, Ron," said Harry, shooting a glare at Hermione, who giggled some more. "No reason at all."


	4. Intrusion

_Harry, I figured out the significance of the number 60. Firecall when you get this note._

_Hermione_

Harry was about to step through his fireplace when the same shape he'd seen a week and a half ago slithered across the floor and onto his foot. He shouted and flailed his leg, though he knew it would be to no avail until—

"Zion, get off Potter. He's got nothing against you," Malfoy said sternly, walking into the living room and picking up the lethifold. "Unless he does. Do you, Potter? Is that why he's so intent on mauling you?"

"Lethifolds don't maul, do they?" Harry asked warily, looking at the creature wrapped around Malfoy's forearm.

"It's more a devouring than anything else," said Malfoy, idly stroking the lethifold.

"Well, thanks for calling him off, then." Harry sat down, assuming that Malfoy wouldn't be leaving just yet.

"Thanks for not trying harder to destroy him," Malfoy said dryly. "I don't know what's wrong with him. I got him a shock collar, but it hasn't done anything to stop him. I think he's too strong to feel it. Or too thick."

"Shock collar? Like the mad things Muggles put on their dogs to keep them in their yards?"

"Yes, one of Father's few Muggle indulgences," said Malfoy as he adjusted the collar around one of the lethifold's entirely undefined limbs and settled into the chair opposite Harry's. "All of the peacocks had them."

"Had?"

"Mother and I hate the peacocks. Since Father's on the continent, we let Zion eat them in their sleep."

"Oh. Right."

"And before you ask, Potter, I haven't worked out why Zion keeps coming back here," said Malfoy. "Normally, lethifolds only attack while the victim is asleep. And you certainly aren't asleep this time."

"Well, lethifolds also only live in the tropics, and that one comes from a colony that lives comfortably in the Isle of Wight, so I suppose anything's possible," Harry said.

"How do you know so much about lethifolds, Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "Knowing where they're from isn't all that much. Hermione—" Harry hesitated. "Sorry, that name's probably not your favorite one to hear right now."

Malfoy cocked his head at Harry before laughing, something Harry added to his brand new "Things I'd Like to See Draco Malfoy Do More Often" list.

"Don't worry about it, Potter," said Malfoy. "That's in the past now. What sorts of theories does she have? You told her about Zion's first escape, then?"

Harry blushed—rather inexplicably, he thought. He ignored Malfoy's smirk and said, "Yeah. Well, we went over it a bit. Mostly I don't understand how you both slipped through the wards."

"Well, Zion's a creature, not a witch or wizard," said Malfoy. "And I am technically a member of the Black family. And even if I wasn't, do you think it would be so hard for me to break through wards?"

"They're pretty good wards," Harry said weakly. Malfoy smiled, not unkindly, and Harry steadfastly ignored the odd feeling in his stomach.

"So, what'd Hermione have to say?" Malfoy asked.

"You still call her Hermione?"

"Sure. Why not?"

Harry shook his head at Draco, who he'd call Draco now, he supposed, because if Draco could call Hermione by her first name, then why couldn't he—oh, sod it. "Dunno. Anyway, she said that lethifolds sense what the nearest human needs, and where they need to go to find it."

"Yes, I'd thought of that, but try as I might, I can't figure out what I need from you or your house," said Draco.

"Could this have something to do with that life debt I owe your family?" Harry asked.

Draco looked thoughtful. Thinking. That was another thing Harry could add to his list. "It could, I suppose. But then that would be you needing me, not me needing you."

"Not necessarily," said Harry. "You could need me to repay you for ... something. I don't know. What have I done to hurt you lately?"

"Sadly, you seldom do anything to hurt me anymore." Draco sighed and mock pouted, a third item for Harry's list. "I sorely miss our rivalry, Potter. No one's ever been quite the same kind of bastard to me as you were."

Harry grinned without meaning to. "I could say the same to you." They looked at each other for a moment, Harry grinning and Draco on the verge, until Draco cleared his throat loudly and stood.

"Well, I apologize for Zion's intrusion," he said. "I should be going."

"Wait, you apologize?"

"Yes. Of course. Why is that so shocking?"

"It's just that I've never heard those two words in succession from you. It's very disarming, see."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'll remember that in the future when you need a good hex. See you around, Har—Potter. I'll let you know if I puzzle anything out."

"You too, Draco," Harry said, allowing himself to use Draco's first name, though Draco had only borderline used his. Draco's cheeks went slightly pink—list item number four, Harry supposed—and he walked out of Grimmauld Place, Zion still firmly wrapped around his arm. And this time, Harry didn't even try to avoid looking at Draco's retreating form.


	5. Wands

"What took you so long?" Hermione asked. "And why didn't you just firecall like I asked?"

Harry shrugged and stepped through the front door into Hermione's living room, which was currently flanked with overflowing cardboard boxes. Ron had moved into Hermione's flat a few days before, and that process wasn't entirely finished yet.

"Needed the exercise, I suppose," said Harry. "It's nice, you know, living within walking distance of you."

"Come over here," she said. "There's something I should show you."

Harry sat down on the couch next to Hermione, who had her laptop open in front of her. She tilted it slightly so Harry had a clearer view of the screen.

"That's a browser window, right?" he asked.

"Yes. You've caught on quicker than Ron." Hermione did whatever it was she had to do to make the tiny arrow go where she wanted it to go. She moved the arrow up and down in a box, a box with columns and rows.

"See the column there titled 'Life?' And see how it's all numbers of days?"

"Yeah. So?"

"So," she said, "when a document turns 60 days old, it disappears."

"Right. OK. What does that have to do with us?"

"Harry, these are fan fiction archives."

Harry shot a blank look at Hermione, who groaned. "Don't you understand? The source of the stories literally _dies _after 60 days, just like our relationships did."

"Wait," said Harry. "So you think the reason George and I broke up, and you and Dra—Malfoy, and Ron and Oliver—you think that's because they just got to the point of death and disappeared?"

"Well, yes. I do."

"Hermione, that's the least logical explanation you've ever come up with for anything."

"That's what I told her," Ron said, walking into the room, three butterbeers in hand. He tossed one to Harry and handed another to Hermione, who smiled up at him. Ron sat down on her other side. "Doesn't make sense, does it? I told her it was probably just a coincidence. And it's not like any of the other couples have broken up." He paused. "Unless they have. Have you talked to Luna or Neville lately?"

"I saw Luna in Diagon Alley last week," said Harry. "She said she was starting an early search for Neville's birthday present. So, yeah, still together."

"Maybe she was just being nice and getting him a present post-breakup," Hermione said.

"Oh, I forgot to mention that she started telling me how brilliant Neville is in bed." Harry shuddered. "You can't un-hear these things."

Ron snorted and Hermione rolled her eyes. "OK, but that's one couple, and you knew they'd end up together eventually. They just needed some kind of impetus for it. That doesn't change the fact that all three of us felt something fall apart 60 days into our respective relationships."

"Wait, Harry, didn't you start to date George earlier than—"

Harry cut Run off. "No. I didn't. We went to Oliver's house about a week after George and I started fooling around, and we hadn't had an official date yet, just, you know." Harry felt his cheeks redden and didn't need to look at Ron to know that his had done the same. "Our first real date was that night. And that was the same day Hermione snogged Malfoy."

"Just call him Draco, Harry," Hermione said with a sigh. "You know you want to."

"Why would you want to call Malfoy by his first name?" Ron asked, sounding confused.

"They've been having dates lately, Harry, Draco, and Draco's lethifold," said Hermione, giggling.

"Oh, God, I don't even want to know what that's innuendo for."

"We haven't been having dates," Harry protested. "He just keeps showing up at my house after his stupid lethifold tries to kill me. And it's only happened twice."

"Twice? Is that why you didn't come over sooner?" asked Hermione.

Harry let out a sigh of his own and nodded. "I was just about to leave when Zion—"

"It has a _name_?"

Harry ignored Ron. "See, Zion tried to eat my foot, then Draco came in and explained that he'd gotten his pet a shock collar but it wasn't doing anything to stop him escaping. Then we tried to puzzle out, you know, why it's happening."

"And did you?" Hermione asked.

"No, there's just nothing," Harry said. "I thought it might have something to do with the life debt."

"That's a good theory," said Hermione.

"What?" Ron asked.

"Lethifolds can sense human emotions and needs," Hermione said patiently as Harry massaged his temples with his index fingers. "For Draco's pet to keep showing up at Harry's house, that indicates that Draco needs something from Harry, or perhaps Harry needs something from him, or perhaps they need something from each other."

Harry was on the edge of rolling his eyes when he had a sudden realization. "His wand!"

"Well, that's a bit much, don't you think, Harry?" Hermione asked, looking shocked. Ron choked on his butterbeer and Hermione clapped him on the back.

"Oh, come on, that's not what I meant and you know it," said Harry, exasperated. "I still have his old wand, remember?"

"You're right!" Hermione's eyes lit up.

"Why do you have that, anyway?" Ron asked.

"Theo Nott told me not to give it back to him," said Harry. "Said Draco had a new one."  
>"How did Theo Nott know you had it?" Hermione asked.<p>

Harry's cheeks reddened. "I was standing outside their common room, holding it and ready to have a go at the password."

"Do the Slytherins even have a password for their common room?" asked Ron.

"Off the point," said Harry. "Anyway, Theo saw me and saw what I had and said not to worry about it, Draco's new wand was suiting him just fine and I should just break the old one in half and dispose of it."

"But you didn't do that," Hermione said.

"No. Of course not. It just felt too weird to destroy a wand."

Hermione nodded while Ron said, "But it was Malfoy's wand."

"Yeah, but he saved us once," said Harry. "And that just made me feel really odd about the whole thing. So it's still here."

"Great. That's really good thinking, Harry," Hermione said, sounding pleased. "When do you think you'll meet up with him?"

"Well, I suppose I'll put that on him," said Harry.

"Can you please think before you say something about Malfoy?" Ron looked disgusted, Hermione snickered, and Harry groaned.

"Sometimes I think we've only gotten worse over time," he said.


	6. Gift

It took a week and a half for Harry to come into contact with Draco after that, and Harry found it entirely justified. He'd started his job the Monday after he'd figured out what Draco needed from him, and he'd added a new member to his household the following weekend, so there was some getting used to that had to be done. But by an otherwise unremarkable Wednesday a full 10 days after Harry had his revelation, he couldn't think of any qualified excuses anymore. He was contemplating what to write to Draco when he heard a familiar voice erupt from his entryway.

"No attacking this time, Zion! It was endearing the first two times, but do it again and I'll deprive you of peacocks for two days."

"I thought the peacocks were all gone," Harry said as Draco entered his living room. Zion was curled around Draco's arm, looking about as threatening as a pygmy puff. "Go ahead and sit down."

Draco complied, sitting opposite Harry. "I've gone back to the smug—er, breeder so Zion can have some snacks." The dog at Harry's feet stood and walked over to Draco. It began licking at Draco's fingers before Draco could pull away. Draco looked at the dog warily.

"A new friend, then?" Draco asked, making no move to stop the dog.

Harry nodded. "Mal. He's an Australian cattle dog. Just got him from a breeder last weekend. Supposedly, they're excellent guard dogs and highly protective of their owners. Sadly, Mal is in love with everyone and everything. His name's short for Anomaly."

Draco smirked, but not unkindly. "Clever. So you sought inspiration from me, then? Saw the virtues of having a pet?"

"Yeah, actually," Harry said sheepishly. "I was jealous of the way Zion wrapped himself around you all the time. He's so possessive of you."

"Jealous of me, or jealous of him?"

Harry blushed deeply and ignored the question coupled with the sustained smirk on Draco's face. "Well, I figured it out," said Harry. "I was just about to owl you, actually." Mal walked back over to Harry, hopped onto the couch, and ungracefully deposited himself onto Harry's lap. "Fuck, you're heavy."

Draco laughed and Harry, without thinking, smiled. "I figured it out, too," said Draco. "About a week ago, actually, maybe more. But my time's been occupied."

"What with?" Harry couldn't control his curiosity. He hadn't seen Draco at the Ministry, but that didn't mean anything, as he didn't often leave his department except to take in a Quidditch game, an unexpected perk of his job as the assistant to the head of the British and Irish League Headquarters.

"I've just started working at the Apothecary."

"Really? Working at a shop?"

"Indeed," said Draco. "Mother encouraged me to do something, as she said, 'below our means' rather than shooting for a position in a Ministry department. Best not to tell anyone that I quite enjoy it."

"You always were good with Potions," Harry said, aware of the grudging tone in his voice.

Draco snickered. "Did it really bother you that much? I had to be better than you at something. And as I recall, you bested me time and again our sixth year."

"Well, your mind wasn't really there then, was it?"

"Nor was yours, but you did just fine."

"That's not really a year I want to revisit," Harry said quietly. "And I can't imagine you do, either."

Both Harry and Draco were quiet for a moment.

"Sorry," said Draco. "And I mean that. Really. For, you know. Everything."

Harry let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "It's fine. Really. And, for what it's worth, so am I."

"It's worth something," Draco said softly. He shook his head as though he was attempting to break himself out of the moment and asked, "So what'd you figure out?"

"Your wand. I have it."

"That's what I thought of, too."

"I wanted to give it back," said Harry. "I really did. But Theo Nott stopped me. I was on my way to give it back to you, waiting outside your common room, and he said it was fine that you didn't have it, that you were doing alright with the new one."

Draco chuckled. "Probably just didn't want to leave me alone with you," he said. "Theo's a good friend, but he doesn't trust me not to hex some people who may or may not deserve it."

"Do I deserve it?" If Harry's tone became flirtatious then, he didn't care. This felt alright somehow. And if it were the last time he'd see Draco for a while, well, may as well make it count.

"Not right now, you don't." Harry wasn't sure what flirtation looked like from Draco Malfoy, though he desperately hoped this was it. "So, where do you keep your former enemy's wands?"

Harry stood. "You can come with me if you want." He walked to the stairs, Draco and Mal following him. Harry had the fleeting thought that Draco had never seen his bedroom in the right circumstances as he entered and immediately dropped to his knees. He tugged his school trunk out from under the bed and opened it.

"I didn't get a good look last time, but this is a nicely decorated room," Draco commented as Harry rummaged through his trunk. "Judging from the clothes you wore at school, I assumed you had no taste."

"Those were mostly my cousin's castoffs," said Harry, pulling out a slim wooden box. "I don't dress so badly anymore, do I?" He stood and handed the box to Draco, who opened it and took out the wand.

"It's a bit beat up, isn't it?" Draco commented, putting the box down on Harry's nightstand. He took the wand in one hand and stroked its length with the other. Harry did his best to ignore ... well, everything: Draco Malfoy in his bedroom, the satisfied look on Draco Malfoy's face, the practical handy Draco Malfoy was giving his wand. "And yes," Draco added. "You've gotten better at dressing yourself. Much better."

"Thanks." Harry coughed. "So, think you'll start using it again?"

"Well, Theo was right when he said things were fine with the new one." Draco reached down and took his replacement wand out of his ankle holster, an invention that Harry had always considered completely useless. Now, as Draco bent at the waist and hitched up the leg of his denims, revealing a well-toned calf, Harry saw that the holsters had their benefits. "Seems like it would be smart to test one and then the other. Can you close the shades?"

Harry complied and Draco cast a _Lumos _with both wands in succession. Though the replacement produced a decent amount of light, it was clear that Draco's original wand was more suited to him.

"Looks like you're better off with your old one," said Harry.

"Do you think its allegiance is with me again, even though you won it off me?"

"Well, I'm giving it to you, so I don't see why it wouldn't be."

Draco nodded and looked at Harry. There were about two steps between them, and the room was dark now. Harry tried again to ignore everything about the situation, the lack of lighting and the proximity and the way he could still see the shine of dark grey eyes...

"I should go," Draco said abruptly, breaking the reverie Harry had unwittingly entered into. "I'll see you around, Harry. Potter. Harry."

"I hope so," said Harry, smiling. He took out his wand, flicked his wrist, and opened the shades. "You can apparate out of here, since you've already all but demolished my wards." Harry took one last look at Draco, Draco in well fitting jeans and a crisp black button down with short sleeves, his hair skimming in front of his eyes, his lips nearly upturned in a smile. "Bye, Draco. Malfoy. Draco."

Draco shook his head and, perhaps grudgingly, allowed himself to smile before turning on the spot and taking his leave.


	7. Trips

"Potter!"

Harry looked down from the ceiling, where he'd been tossing pencils to see if they'd stick, and forward at his boss, Raymond Johnson. "Yes, Mr. Johnson?"

"So they do stick, then?" Johnson gestured upward. "Is that why you've switched from quills?"

"Partially," said Harry. "They're just less fussy, pencils. Same goes for pens, but pencils are the most stripped down writing utensil, in my experience. Shouldn't you be scolding me for testing their sticking power?"

Johnson shook his head. "It's been a slow week. I just wanted to tell you to stop because the thudding noise is getting out of hand."

"Is it a thud? I heard it as more of a thunk."

"Regardless, it's driving Katie crazy, and you know she'll never say anything herself." Katie Bell was Johnson's secretary. Harry at least partway pinned Katie's hiring on her sustained friendship with Angelina, Johnson's daughter and Harry and Katie's former Quidditch teammate, but it probably didn't hurt that Katie was reasonably bright and worked hard.

"Sure thing, Mr. Johnson. I'll stop right away."

Johnson groaned. "Quit with the title."

"Fine, Johnson." Harry grinned. "Oh, I spoke with Bagman. He did make peace with the goblins, but he's in America just in case they change their minds."

"How'd you manage that?" Johnson asked, sounding impressed.

"Bill Weasley, mostly. Bargained with some free babysitting."

"He works at Gringotts, right?"

"Right. Has for years. I think he's one of about three humans in the world the goblins trust more than not at all."

"Well, good work, Potter," said Johnson. "I'd say that more than makes up for your pencil tossing." He cast a Tempus Charm. "Only two more hours of the day. You may as well leave. We'll schedule your trip to America next week. Do you know where Bagman is specifically?"

"Trip to America?"

Johnson nodded. "You'll have to escort Bagman back here and set up a glamour for him to use whenever goblins may be nearby. He can't come here alone, but unfortunately, we're going to need him to explain why drafting a veela is forbidden. Bagman's the only man that damned coach has ever listened to."

"So you want it to be me, then?"

"Of course. Bagman loves you. He'll listen to you, especially after you offer him a spot on the British team in our next charity exhibition game."

Harry sighed. "So I can't worm my way out of this, then?"

"Is it really so bad to take a paid vacation overseas, Potter?" Johnson asked with a laugh. "Where is he, anyway?"

"Seattle. He's become rather fond of a football team called the Sounders. Makes a lot of good bets on them, he said."

"The man won't learn, will he?"

"Never. Have a good weekend, Potter."

"You too, sir."

Harry began gathering his things before realizing he had no things to gather and thought about how he could while away the next two hours. It had been a week since he'd seen Draco, and he contemplated stopping by the Apothecary but couldn't think of a proper excuse. Maybe he could say Hermione needed something for Spell Research, but that wouldn't make much sense, considering Hermione was perfectly capable of picking up supplies and ingredients on her own. He could potentially claim he needed something for his job, but that wouldn't hold water, considering his job consisted of documenting injuries, intervening in scuffles between the Harpies and the Cannons, and, apparently, jetting off to Seattle to pick up Ludo Bagman. Resigning himself to the fact that he had no need to visit Draco, who might not even be in the shop anyway, he headed home, where as soon as he entered the door, he collided with something—someone?—solid and warm and very, very blond.

"I promise it wasn't my idea," said Draco. "It's all Zion." He gestured at the floor, where Mal was sniffing the lethifold curiously.

"Isn't Zion going to try to consume my stupid dog?" Harry asked.

Draco shook his head. "He's been sniffing Zion for a few minutes now. Zion doesn't seem to mind. Sorry for the breaking and entering. I was just following him again."

"This doesn't make sense," said Harry. "I wasn't even here this time, and we've already worked out what you needed."

"Maybe Zion just wanted another friend," Draco suggested in a deadpan tone. Mal was tentatively licking at the edge of Zion.

"Or maybe you still need something."

"I can't imagine what that would be."

"Have dinner with me tonight," Harry blurted out, immediately regretting it as he witnessed Draco's eyes widen and mouth drop open. It would've been comical under other circumstances; right now, it just added to Harry's significant embarrassment.

"Have dinner with you," Draco said slowly. "And what would that do for us?"

"Maybe you're the one who needs a friend," said Harry, knowing exactly how ridiculous he sounded. But now that he'd started, he may as well go full bore. "It can't be anything else, can it? You have your wand. We've more or less apologized and forgiven each other. Seems like it's time to move forward."

"Right. And the way to do that is by having dinner." Draco smirked. "Are you suggesting we go on a date, Potter?"

"Harry. Call me Harry. And no. Well, maybe. I don't know. If I was, would you say yes?"

Draco cocked his head to the side and looked at Harry as though examining him. Since Harry hadn't changed out of his work clothes—forest green robes, open, with a white linen shirt and black trousers underneath—he knew he looked presentable at worst and, as George had once put it when he'd seen Harry in these clothes, minus the robes, utterly shaggable at best. Maybe Draco would agree with George's assessment. Harry only hated himself a little for hoping so.

"Are you paying?" Draco asked.

"If that's what it takes, sure."

"Desperate, then?"

"No, not really," said Harry. "I just think it'd be easier for us to spend time together on purpose than have your pet lethifold keep leading you into my sitting room."

"So, is it a date, or isn't it?"

"If it is, it'll be about the strangest one I've ever been on." Harry scratched his head. "We're not going to talk about how this is weird the whole time, are we?"

"So now you're assuming I'm going?"

"You would've left by now if you weren't."

"Well, it's a bit early for dinner, don't you think?"

"Then we'll get drinks first." Draco rolled his eyes at Harry, who said, "Please. Let's just try this, OK? We'll see what it's like to be friends for longer than it takes you to get Zion or your wand."

"So, not a date."

"Why do you have this need to put a label on it? Two friends, going out for drinks and dinner, maybe to a film. Good enough?"

"Fine, fine, I'll go with you," Draco relented. "But change, would you?"

"Why?"

"Oh, don't sound so hurt, Potter. You're better dressed than I am right now, and I can't have that." Draco gestured at his denims and plain black t-shirt. Harry tried not to stare.

"I didn't realize Malfoys wore jeans," Harry said, smiling wryly. "Isn't that a bit too Muggle for you?"

"They're damn comfortable. Go change your clothes."


	8. Dinner

"You're extremely demanding, you know," Harry said to Draco. They were seated at a Muggle restaurant called the Coach & Horses. Before they'd made it there, Draco had insisted they stop at Ben Sherman so as not to be underdressed (even though Harry's earlier ensemble that Draco had forced him out of had been perfectly adequate). By the time Draco had paid an exorbitant amount on new clothes for both of them, insisting "Mother would want whomever I was dining with to look every bit as good as I do," Harry's stomach was growling and "too early from dinner" had long since gone.

"I paid for the clothes you're wearing, Potter," said Draco, sipping on an aged whisky Harry had ignored in favor of hard cider. "Or, at least, my mother did. So I don't think you have any right to complain."

"Harry. Remember? If we're going to be friends, then you're going to call me by my first name."

"And I suppose you'll call me Draco, then, too?"

"Yes, I will." Harry paused before adding, "Draco."

"I suppose it sounds a bit softer than the way you spit out 'Malfoy,' doesn't it?" Draco mused. "Is it good enough if I simply avoid calling you by any sort of name?"

"Friends use each other's names in conversation," said Harry.

"No. They do not. And if they do, they do so infrequently. It sounds ridiculous."

"Why do you say that, Draco?"

"Did you just hear yourself?" Draco asked. "How unnatural that was?"

"I haven't the faintest what you're talking about, Draco."

"You're impossible."

"And you're extremely demanding." Harry popped an olive in his mouth, pleased to see how closely Draco was watching him. "Draco."

"You can stop now," said Draco. "You've made your point."

"And what point was that?"

"Well, it is ridiculous. But maybe ridiculous isn't always bad."

"Are you enjoying the olives, sirs?" the waiter asked as he approached.

"They're great," Harry said. "What are they marinated in?"

The waiter winked at Harry. "Can't say. Chef's secret."

Draco cleared his throat loudly. "We're ready to order our dinner now. I'll have the lamb shank, and he'll have the fish and chips, and when the time comes, we'll be splitting the tart."

"Good choices," the waiter said. "You'll love them."

"I know I will," said Draco, narrowing his eyes at the waiter. "I've had them all before, that's why I ordered them."

"Right. Sorry. I'll put those orders in, then." The waiter stepped away warily.

"What was that for?" Harry asked as soon as he was out of earshot.

"Well, look at me, and then look at yourself, and then look at both of us together."

Harry stared at Draco blankly.

"Do it, Harry."

Harry complied. "Alright. OK. Two blokes having dinner together. So?"

"So," Draco said, sounding impatient, "our dear waiter should assume that the two of us are _together_, not just together. It's the polite thing to do."

"So maybe he has?"

"If he had, he wouldn't be aggressively flirting with you."

"He is?"

"You can't tell when someone is flirting with you at all, can you?" Draco asked, smiling slightly.

"Not really," said Harry. "That's always been true. I got really confused in the last few years of school when people started paying attention to me. I mean, paying attention to me, and not because I was the savior or whatever you all thought."

"And let me guess, Granger explained it to you."

"Of course she did. Ron was horribly jealous."

"Isn't he usually?"

"Not anymore," Harry said with a shrug. "He has Hermione and he's in Auror training and he seems pretty happy about everything."

"Why aren't you in Auror training?"

"I bet you can figure it out if you try."

Draco tapped his index finger against his temple. "Sick of saving people, aren't you?"

Harry laughed. "It sounds selfish when you put it like that."

"No," said Draco. "It doesn't. It sounds sensible. What do you do instead, then? You're not going out for Quidditch, obviously. Oh, let me guess, Games and Sports?"

"How'd you know?"

"Perhaps I know you better than you realize."

"Perhaps you do."

Harry studied Draco for a moment before saying, "We still haven't figured out what we're doing here, have we?"

Draco laughed. "You've known from the beginning. You just haven't been able to say so. You know what's next, right?"

"What's that?"

"We're going to have to talk about this."

"What?"

"Your crush on me, and how you ever could have developed such a thing, considering our rich and fabled history."

"Oi! I don't have a crush on you."

"Don't you?" Draco asked, smirking. "You're telling me you haven't noticed my steely eyes or my silken hair or my flawless skin or—"

"You're daft."

"I don't think you believe that. I think you want me. I think you've wanted me since the first time Zion paid you an unexpected visit."

"If that's true, then you've wanted me right back. All the too-long looks and the banter and the ... the ... just you!"

Draco shrugged his shoulders. "So what if I do?"

Harry gaped at him, completely ignoring the waiter as he delivered their entrees and topped off their drinks. Draco carefully arranged his napkin in his lap before cutting his shank into neat little squares and having his first bite.

"Oh, this is borderline orgasmic," he said with a happy sounding sigh. "Of course, I knew it would be, but that doesn't take away from the feeling. Here, have some." Draco stabbed a piece of meat and deposited it on the edge of Harry's plate as Harry continued to stare at him. Draco laughed. "Come on. Eat up. Try to think about your taste buds rather than your libido. I know what it must be doing to you now that you know you have a chance at making all your wildest fantasies come true."

Harry shook his head, attempting to break himself out of the odd stupor into which he'd entered, and began eating. "It's good," he said.

"That's all? 'Good?'"

"Well, fine, it's great. Best fish and chips I've had in a while. Excuse me if I can't think straight after finding out, well, you know."

"I know." Draco smiled, and Harry found himself more flustered than before, though he hadn't thought that possible.

"This changes everything," said Harry. "I hope you know that."

"Does it?"

"Of course it does! You're Draco Malfoy and I'm Harry Potter and the two of us are never meant to fancy each other. That's not how the story ends."

"What story?" Draco looked confused, perhaps deservedly so, and Harry shook his head again.

"Yours. Mine. Ours. We don't have one!" Harry scowled at Draco, who was now smirking. "We're not supposed to!"

"You really believe that?" Draco asked, his voice quiet.

Harry nodded.

"At least say it out loud so I have some reason to believe you."

Harry sighed. "Even if I think you're different now, or the same, and I'm just recognizing the good things I've always tried to ignore, and even if it's happening for you, too..."

"Harry." Draco reached across the table and took Harry's hand. "I was terrible, and sometimes, you were too. But I'm different, and you're different, and we're the same in all the ways we should be, and—"

"Draco, you sound so much less smart than usual."

"Shut it, I'm still working out my feelings, OK?"

"No, really. Much less smart. Like, we're talking Goyle level here."

"Git."

"I know. But apparently you like that sort of thing." Harry squeezed Draco's hand.

"Does that mean you're going to do relent and say I'm beautiful and wonderful and you've loved me this whole time?"

Harry laughed. "No. But I'll relent and say you're nice to look at, and clever, and I could stand to spend some more time with you, and not in this weird 'Let's see if this satisfies your lethifold' way. It can be proper."

"Proper?"

"You know, like actual dates."

Draco nodded. "So in time, you will actually be satisfying my lethifold."

"Worst innuendo ever."

"Your fault."

"So, we're going to try this, then?"

Draco squeezed Harry's hand this time. "May as well, right? The world will at least get some headlines out of it. But no snogging. Not yet."

"I'm not making any promises."

"I figured you wouldn't."


	9. Reason

Harry woke up with a horrible taste in his mouth, a painful crick in his neck, and a heavy weight on his lap. His glasses were still on his face, his head ached as it never had before, and he was dreadfully far from his bed, instead seated in the wingback chair in his living room. Harry looked over at the much more comfortable couch, which, if he remembered correctly, Draco had occupied the night before. Harry cast a Tempus Charm. 10:30. Had Draco ran out on him? Was it possible to run out on someone when you hadn't had sex or even kissed? The strong smell of bacon wafted into the room before Harry could ponder the possible answers to these questions.

"Wake up," Draco called from the kitchen. "I'm bored and I will eat all of this myself if you don't get in here within five minutes. No, not five, that's generous. Two. You have two minutes."

Harry groaned, pushed Mal off his lap, and dragged himself up and out of the chair. Though the kitchen was considerably less than 100 feet away from the living room, the journey seemed much longer than usual. Harry slumped down at the counter.

"Good morning to you, too," Draco said, entirely too cheery for anytime before noon on a Saturday. He put a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of Harry, along with a glass of pumpkin juice and a stoppered bottle of a foggy green liquid. It registered with Harry as Draco crossed the room that Draco was wearing some of Harry's pajamas. Harry would've given him a fond look if it hadn't hurt him just thinking of contorting his features into anything but a grimace.

"Eat a bite or two, then drink the potion," Draco half-ordered Harry.

"Yes, sir," said Harry. "What's the potion?"

"Curative for hangovers. I usually have some on me just in case."

"Is it too soon to say I love you?" Harry took a bite of bacon, unstoppered the bottle, and gulped down the potion. It went to work immediately; the crick in his neck remained, but the headache dissipated.

"Malfoys don't say 'I love you' ever, so, yes, it is too early," Draco said, an amused expression on his face. "Hangover potions don't taste particularly good, as I'm sure you've now realized, thus the breakfast. Also, I thought it might convince you that I really am sorry about that skrewt/flobberworm hybrid comment."

Harry laughed. "If I say I'm not convinced, will you continue cooking for me?"

"I may consider doing that anyway," said Draco. He looked away then, but not before Harry caught a glimpse of his smile. After dinner the night before, they'd spent a few hours raiding Harry's liquor cabinet and recalling the very worst insults they'd hurled at each other in school.

"It really sounded like you meant that one, though," Harry said.

"I didn't, I swear," said Draco, bringing his own breakfast to the counter and sitting beside Harry. "I was plenty jealous of you by that point. And not just the whole savior thing."

"Oh, yeah? What were you jealous of?"

"Your eyes. And your body."

"My body? Really?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Please. You grew into something other than dreadfully thin. I never got so lucky."

"You're not dreadfully thin," said Harry. "You're slim. And believe me, it isn't a bad thing. Not on you, at least."

"Again, I repeat: please. You're just trying to make penance for the time you told Pansy you'd rather go into Hogsmeade with a trio of Inferi than her and Theo and me."

"Well, why did you want me to go with you, anyway?" Harry asked. "That was October last year, right?"

Draco nodded. "It was Theo's idea. Said he was sick of taking the piss out of you."

"That was around the same time I tried to give your wand back, actually. Maybe he was scheming."

"For what? To get you and me together or something? Then wasn't he a bit at odds with himself?"

"I suppose, yeah."

"Well, he wouldn't have wanted to do that, anyway. We were dating at the time, and for two months after that."

Harry choked on his pumpkin juice and Draco laughed. "I suppose you didn't know that, then?"

"No. I didn't. Does that mean you—"

"Yes, Harry, I'm not a virgin, either."

"Either?"

Draco snorted. "If you don't think I worked out that you and Weasley the Elder shagged, and relied on shagging as the lifeblood of their relationship, then you have no conception of how intelligent I am. That is to say I'm more intelligent than a block of wood."

"It wasn't the lifeblood of our relationship!" Harry protested. Draco raised his eyebrows, and Harry sighed. "OK, maybe it sort of was here and there. It almost got boring, though, you know?"

"No, I can honestly say I do not know what it's like for sex to become a chore," said Draco. "But Theo and I didn't do it nearly as much as we would have liked to. We couldn't with Greg and Blaise hanging around."

"Did they know?"

"Sure. But that didn't mean they needed auditory or visual confirmation."

"Alright, that's fair. Still don't know why Theo wanted the four of us to go into Hogsmeade together."

"Foursome, maybe?" Draco laughed at his own joke. "I don't know. He was always keener on being friendly and polite than the rest of us. That's why I liked him."

"Draco Malfoy was attracted to friendliness?" Harry feigned shock.

Draco shrugged. "Why not? You're friendly, and I fancy you." He paused. "I also liked Theo's chest quite a bit. Can't recall seeing yours recently enough to know if I'll feel the same way about it."

"Could you like it more?" Harry asked before eating the last of his bacon.

Draco cocked his head to the side, examining Harry. "Your body's appealing enough with clothes on, so it's a distinct possibility. Frankly, Harry, I'm shocked you didn't try anything last night."

"Try anything?" Harry laughed. "You said no snogging, and I didn't know how you'd retaliate under the influence."

"Probably compliantly, if not eagerly," said Draco. Harry gaped at him, and Draco smirked back. "I tend to think much more with my cock when I'm inebriated. And yet, you ignored your overbearingly Gryffindor instincts and kept your word. Honorable, really."

"Why don't you want me to kiss you, anyway?" Harry asked, attempting to distract himself from the idea of Draco thinking with anything but his brain.

"I suppose I don't want to risk getting attached too quickly. This was, after all, our first date, if it can be called that."

"What's the problem in getting attached? We like each other. That's enough reason, right?"

"You do rush into things, don't you?" Draco laughed. "What if I told you right now that I had a dreadful time last night and never want to try something like this again?"

"Well, I'd be hurt," said Harry. "But I'd try to understand and maybe ask you out again in six months."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You never give up. It's simultaneously one of the most appealing and infuriating things about you."

"I get that sometimes."

"Anyway, luckily enough for you, and for me, last night was not dreadful. Last night was actually quite nice, and it was rather charitable of you to let me have the couch. Now, why you didn't use your own bed to sleep, I don't know. Perhaps the distance would've overwhelmed you."

"Git." Harry couldn't fight the smile on his face. "So, one of your better first dates, then?"

"Well, Theo was so nervous he shattered a glass at Rosmerta's and made her even angrier at me than she still was, and Marcus—"

"Flint too?"

"Marcus insisted I meet his parents on the first date rather than later, and Granger—Hermione—well, you know how that worked out. So, yes, I'd say you're doing rather well." Draco shook his head. "I still don't know what came over me there. I mean, I knew I wasn't straight by that point."

"Wait. You don't know?" asked Harry.

"Don't know what?"

"She never told you?"

"Told me what?"

"Oh. _Oh_. Nothing. Forget I—so should I tell you about my first date with Ginny? Well, I don't even know where to—"

"Potter," Draco said steadily, "if you don't tell me right away what you know and I don't, I swear to Salazar, I will not hesitate to hex your cock and balls off and throw you out of your own home."

"So it's Potter again," said Harry weakly.

"Don't test me, Harry." Draco's expression softened slightly. "Tell me."

"Well, you were only interested in her—everyone was only interested in everyone, really—because of the fan fiction," Harry said. "There was something magic to it, not our kind of magic, I don't know what it was, but it made it so people were attracted to each other in these weird and, I guess, fictional ways. And it lasted a certain amount of time, and then it was over."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "So that's what's going to happen here, then?"

"What? No! It's past the 60-day—"

"Just stop. Stop now." Draco put his head in his hands and kneaded at his temples. "Of course this isn't real. Why would the person I've been interested in since we were 13 suddenly take notice of me? Because my lethifold thinks he should and makes it happen? It plays out the same way some sex starved post adolescent American woman's greatest fantasy would, doesn't it?" He stood. "I should be going. I meant it when I said ... I meant it, alright? But that doesn't mean I shouldn't leave now. Now that I know this isn't real."

"Draco, no. You don't understand. This, us, now? It's not part of—"

"I understand, Harry. Really, I do. And I also understand that if I don't leave now you'll convince me to stay, so I should go back to what I do, and you go back to what you do, and we'll forget this ever happened." And with a sad smile and a loud crackling noise, Draco Malfoy disappeared from Harry's life again.


	10. Luna

"And then he decided that this all meant that our starting to date, or whatever it was going to be, had to be manufactured, so he said something about how he's liked me since we were 13 but for some reason he didn't want to stick around and test that out, and then he was gone."

Luna cocked her head to the side and inspected Harry. It was three days after Draco had left, and now, Luna and Harry were seated at the kitchen table in the house Luna had recently purchased with Neville, who was at Hogwarts, tending the greenhouses while Professor Sprout took a holiday in Borneo—lots of plants there, Neville had told Harry before he went to the castle. After Neville left, Luna had informed Harry that as soon as Sprout retired, Neville would be taking over her post, and that suited Luna, who was working at Flourish & Blotts but only part time, just fine.

"So the fan fiction couples broke up after 60 days, then?" Luna looked thoughtful, or that could just be her natural expression. Harry could never quite tell with her. "That's unfortunate. You all seemed happy."

"We weren't. You were, though. Are."

"Yes, but we're not a fan fiction couple, are we?" Luna twisted her engagement ring, which she'd gotten from Neville three weeks before, and smiled.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, confused.

"Neville and I have been together since the war ended. Did no one notice?"

"What?" Harry blinked at Luna several times in utter disbelief.

"Well, I suppose Neville was keeping it quiet, wasn't he? So was I, at his request. I'm an exhibitionist by nature, though, and when everyone else was being so forthcoming, so amorous with their chosen partners..." Luna's smile turned dreamier than ever. "Well, then Neville was much more compliant. And after that, we both thought we might as well go public." She paused. "Just with less snogging on the common room floor."

"Right. So. Not a fan fiction couple."

"Nope."

"So how do I prove that Draco and I would be like you two?"

"Well, you're not," said Luna. "We were together already. That's what makes this hard for him, I suppose. I was wondering, Harry, why come to me about this?"

"You were the obvious choice," Harry said. "Ron is Ron—"

Luna nodded knowingly. "Right. No conception of emotions."

"Hermione dated him, George dated me and probably doesn't want to hear that I already fancy someone else and have for weeks, and, well, you're the nicest person I know, aren't you?"

"Probably."

"And you seem to understand that Draco's not really a bad guy."

"He's apologized to me, but he didn't need to. It wasn't him keeping us in the cellar. And he brought us soft cheese and warm bread sometimes."

"Only you could sound as though you miss being tortured."

"It wasn't torture, just imprisonment," said Luna. "What do you think you should do?"

"I don't know. Words aren't working."

"Have you tried pictures?"

Harry gaped at Luna.

"Write it out for him," she said. "The Apothecary has a white board with lots of colorful markers in its back room." Harry thought it best not to ask how Luna knew that. "Show him. Write out your relationship with George, maybe his with Hermione, Ron's with Oliver, mine with Neville. Then show him what yours would be."

"And you think that would work?"

"I don't know. It might work on me. It'd certainly work on Neville."

"Why would you say that?" This time Harry's curiosity got the best of him.

"Because I had to draw pictures for him to understand why it was a good idea to have sex two dates in."

"Wait. Are you sure Neville is actually a man?"

Luna tittered. "Yes, I'm quite sure, having seen all of him. But he's very nervous sometimes, and very polite, and sometimes he needs a push in the right direction. And maybe Draco does, too."

"You're really great, Luna," said Harry. "You know that, right?"

"I've been told that, but no one can ever really believe that about themselves, can they? I bet you don't even think you're great in spite of all the evidence."

"What evidence?"

She smiled. "That's what I mean."

"Well. Anyway. Thanks, Luna. Can I get you lunch or something?"

"You're that eager to get over to Diagon Alley?"

Harry laughed weakly. "You know me."

"Well, I am scheduled to work this afternoon, so I suppose it wouldn't hurt to already be there. Have you been to Lee Jordan's new restaurant yet?"

"Can't say I have."

"Then we'll go there, you'll get me something with beets and feta cheese in it, and then we'll see if Draco is working. Does that sound good to you?"

"It sounds great to me."

Though Harry couldn't quite grasp the appeal of warm beet salad with a side of feta-infused bread, his own meal of spinach pie and soda bread had him well and convinced that Luna's suggestion was a good one. And it didn't cost them anything, since Lee was in the kitchen and grinned from ear to ear, proclaiming loudly, "Harry Potter's eating in my restaurant!" before giving Harry and Luna their orders on the house.

"This means I still owe you, then," said Harry as he finished the last nibbles of his treacle tart.

"Only if things work out," Luna said smoothly. "And they will. So yes, I suppose you do. Do you remember where the Apothecary is, or should I walk with you?"

"It might be worth you walking with me just to make sure I don't panic and run out."

Luna nodded and the two of them walked three blocks over to the typically foul smelling shop where Draco worked. Upon opening the door, Harry realized that it didn't smell so bad anymore. It smelled quite good, actually, like a combination of cider and springtime breezes and that woody scent Draco seemed to carry with him...

"That's Amortentia, don't you think?" Luna asked, breathing in deeply. "What does it smell like to you?"

"Hard cider and spring," said Harry, leaving off the Draco part. "You?"

"Neville," she said simply. "Oh, and I suppose there's a hint of strawberries. Hello, Draco!"

Harry looked up from the unicorn horns he'd been fixated on to see Draco, Draco with narrowed eyes and a scowl on his face. Neither his eyes nor his scowl were directed toward Luna.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked. "Lovegood—Luna—you're fine. I mean him."

"Harry had something to show you," said Luna, sounding breezy as ever. "I need to go over to Flourish & Blotts now. Bye, Harry." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Nice to see you, Draco." Draco nodded at her as she turned on her heel and half-skipped away.

"Something to show me, then?" Draco's voice was soft, but not gentle.

"Yes," said Harry, trying to sound more confident than he was, which was not at all. "I—can we go into the back room?"

"Why?"

"Something to show you. And I need the board."

"How do you know about the board?"

"I know about the board because Luna knows about the board."

"And how does she—" Draco shook his head. "Never mind. Fine. OK. Just don't get rid of what's on there."

"I know a spell," said Harry. "Lead on."


	11. Illustrations

"_Imperamovio_," Harry muttered, directing his wand at the white board in the cramped back room of the Apothecary.

"Oi!" said Draco, sounding angry. "That information was crucial."

"Then you should have it somewhere other than on something that erases so easily."

"I'd call that a fair point if I weren't so mad at you."

"Right. That's what I'm trying to fix." Harry walked over to the board and picked up a black marker. "Now, let's get this straight."

"So to speak."

"Good to know you haven't lost your humor." Harry set to work drawing two columns next to each other, listing his, Hermione's, and Ron's names in one and, opposite those, George's, Draco's, and Oliver's. He drew up a third column and wrote the number 60 next to the bottom two pairs. Next to George's name, he scribbled out a 63, adding "Stupid cowardly git" in parentheses next to the number. Draco, in spite of himself, smirked. Harry went on, adding the dates of the relationships at the top of each column.

"Fan fiction + unlikely pairings = bound for disaster," he wrote below the chart in block letters.

"Each of these relationships lasted for 60 days, which is the life of a story draft on the fan fiction website Hermione unwittingly led us to," said Harry. "These on top are the dates each relationship lasted through. See, they fell apart the same time something disingenuous would."

Draco nodded as Harry went back to writing. He scrawled out his name next to Draco's and put a date above them.

"This is the first time you and Zion showed up at my house," he said. "That's the first time I felt something for you."

"The day you broke up with George?"

"The day I realized that meant nothing but, well, sex." He wrote three question marks next to the date, then, emphatically as one can with a dry erase marker, crossed them out, writing "NEVER" over top of them. "And that's when I'm going to give up on whatever it is I have with you." Harry drew two stick figures then, each holding hands and smiling broadly. He used the red marker to draw a heart above them. "And that's how you make me feel. Look, you've been driving me crazy since we were kids, and I never knew what that meant till after I went through something that wasn't real. This—" He took three steps toward Draco and put his hands on Draco's shoulders. "This is realer than anything I've ever felt for anyone else. And I know you feel it, too. Don't try to deny it, OK? Please, just believe me. And let me kiss you, because right now there's nothing I want more."

Draco paused for just long enough that Harry nearly took his hands off the other boy's shoulders. Then Draco spoke. "One condition."

"What's that?"

"Erase your idiotic charts and stick figures that miraculously showed me just how stupidly in love with me you are and bring back what I had there before."

Harry laughed and pointed his wand at the board, saying "_Reconreddo_." Draco's immaculate handwriting reappeared.

"Good," said Draco. "You can kiss me now."

"One thing," Harry said. "I'm not in love with you. But I could be."

"I know. I just like melodrama."

"I know." And Harry kissed him.

It wasn't exactly what Harry was expecting, though it was every bit as good and then some. Draco's lips were unexpectedly rough, the inside of his mouth only just big enough for Harry's tongue, which he used liberally and perhaps a touch too enthusiastically as those chapped lips split apart and let Harry in. Harry slung his arms around Draco's neck and felt pressure on either side of his torso; realizing it was Draco's hands, he tightened his grip while kneading Draco's exposed skin with his fingertips. Draco groaned quietly and broke off the kiss.

"Better than I thought you'd be, really," said Draco, licking his lips. "Granted, you're no Theo—"

"Oh, shut up." Harry kissed him again, this time with more force and insistence, and it was even more brilliant than the first.

"Alright, fine, you've bested him." Draco smirked, though with affection, and rubbed his nose against Harry's before stealing another kiss—no, not stealing, generously donating, perhaps, Harry thought as Draco allowed his own tongue to get involved. It got to be nearly too much for Harry rather quickly; his face was flushed, his heart was racing, and everything internal, hell, external, too from the waist on down was reacting remarkably strongly.

"You sure you're not casting a Jelly Legs Jinx on me?"

He felt Draco smile against his lips. "That's just how good I am, Potter." He slipped his arms all the way around Harry's waist and dropped his head onto Harry's shoulder. "You realize I'm on the clock, right?"

"That doesn't seem like a great reason to get closer."

"No," Draco agreed. "I'm going to need you to leave before I start doing unspeakable things to you while I'm at work. Speaking of, shouldn't you be at the Ministry?"

"I told my boss I was taking the day off to plan my trip to the States," said Harry. "Couldn't have come at a worse time, could it? You finally let me kiss you, and I have to—come with me."

"What?" Draco raised his head off Harry's shoulder and gaped at him. "To America?"

"It's a three day trip," Harry said. "We'll stay somewhere ludicrously expensive and you'll lounge around the room and fill up on pastries and sugar filled coffee based drinks that hardly qualify as coffee while I convince Ludo Bagman to come back to England."

"A trip with you," Draco said slowly.

"Think of it as consummating our relationship in a completely nonsexual way," said Harry. "Though we don't have to rule out sex if you don't want to."

"I'd never do something as stupid as that," Draco said. "When do we leave?"

"You'll go?" Harry was fully aware of how ecstatic he sounded, but he couldn't care less. "Brilliant. We don't have to tell Johnson. Or I could and pretend that—"

"You can't lie for shit, Harry," said Draco. "Just leave it out and pay for my Portkey and I'll buy you at least one dinner."

"So generous." Harry rolled his eyes. "And no Portkeying. We're going by plane."

"Plane? That mad Muggle invention that flies without the aid of a broom?" The excitement in Draco's tone was rare, and Harry relished it. He grinned.

"That one. You've never been on a plane before?"

"Have you?"

"No. Guess we'll have to wing it." Harry chuckled and Draco stared at him blankly. "Just a little bit of plane humor there."

"Right. Well. I suppose this is an acceptable way to start a relationship, so long as we're going somewhere warm and beautiful and distinctly American."

"Glad you can see things my way."

"Now, could you kindly untangle yourself from me before my boss gets back and fires me for messing about on the job?"

"Only if you do first," said Harry.

Draco sighed and unhooked his arms from around Harry's waist. Harry leaned in for one more kiss before pulling away reluctantly. "What time are you off?"

"Half past 5," said Draco. "I suppose you want a date tonight."

"I suppose I do."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You'll be addicted before you know it."

"Already am." Harry grinned. "I want to kiss you again, but I'm not going to be able to stop once I start, and you know how these things go."

"I'm not sure, actually," said Draco with a sly smile. "Show me later?"

"Of course. Well, bye, then." Harry paused before asking, "Can I call you my boyfriend?"

Draco kissed him on the forehead. "Not on your life, Potter."


	12. Seattle

"I could live here," said Draco speculatively.

Harry laughed. "You've seen a coffee shop and walked a block through downtown and you already know you could live here?"

"In that coffee shop, I got complimented on my accent and checked out by no less than four people. It's nice to be appreciated."

"I appreciate you." Harry leaned across the bed in their suite at Hotel 1000 in downtown Seattle. It was, as Harry had promised, ludicrously expensive and still worth it somehow. Plus, it was five minutes from the stadium where Bagman's favorite team played. Harry kissed Draco's forehead, and Draco turned toward him, granting Harry better access to his lips. Harry took advantage of the opportunity, and they found themselves occupied for several minutes before Draco announced that he was hungry and tired and in no mood.

"Could've fooled me," Harry muttered, standing and straightening up.

"I'll be much less cranky after dinner and a nap," Draco promised. "I still can't believe you told your boss you were taking me with you."

Harry shrugged and sat back down to put on his trainers. "Well, you know I can't lie for shit, you've said so yourself. And he said as long as you paid your own way, he didn't see any problem with it. I did opt out of telling him that you likely had no intention of paying for most anything on this entire trip."

"As if you mind," said Draco, depositing himself on Harry's lap and slinging a leg over either side before snogging him breathless.

"I thought you were in no mood," Harry said, slightly dazed and in desperate need for more.

"I changed my mind. How long do we have to wait to shag, Harry?"

"What?"

Draco poked Harry in the chest. "You heard what I said."

"Well, I don't know. Longer than a week, don't you think?" They'd already come remarkably close, doing just about everything they could right up to sex but stopping there. Harry wanted to go further, but there was some hesitance there, considering how quickly he'd gone all the way with George, and how soon that became the most important part of their relationship. Granted, theirs was a romance that was doomed from the start, and Harry had always had the nagging notion that that was the case—while with Draco, there was no doubt in Harry's mind that this meant something more. So sex was an ellipsis and a question mark and something Harry tried not to think about, which was considerably more difficult with Draco straddling him.

"How soon did you have sex with Weasley the Elder?" Draco asked.

"Too soon," said Harry. "I don't remember exactly when, just that we'd hardly been together for more than a week or two, and I think that's the main reason it became so much more important than just about everything else. OK, fine, everything else," he added, catching the look on Draco's face. "And I know this, you and me, it means so much more than that ever did. It did as soon as you let me kiss you, and even more so after we went out. And I don't want to fuck it up."

"Would shagging fuck it up?"

"I don't know," Harry said honestly. "I just think there's that possibility that we'd have to use it as a quick fix eventually."

"You realize we've already had a fight, which is healthy, and we resolved it by talking it out after I threw Mal's food dish at your head, right?"

Harry chuckled. "Right." The fight had been silly—Harry wanted to take Mal with them to Seattle, and Draco insisted it wasn't practical. Ultimately, Harry conceded, leaving Mal in Hermione's care for the week. (Hermione, for her part, was thrilled that Harry and Draco were together. Ron was less so, but Harry assumed he could deal with that later.) "I don't think we even kissed."

"We did, if on the cheek counts."

"Never thought you'd be the type to like doing that," said Harry, brushing his lips against Draco's forehead.

"You're predictable enough that I knew you'd be thrilled with it," Draco said. "Well, I'm going to have to insist that you don't make me wait much longer, because I think we'll be ready before you know it."

"So you're not willing to wait for me?"

Draco furrowed his brow and pursed his lips in concentration. Harry held himself back from kissing him for the utter adorableness of that expression alone. "I suppose I'm going to have to be. That's compromise, right? That's a relationship thing?"

"I thought you'd done this before."

"I was 18 then. I'm 19 now. Everything changes when you turn 19."

Harry rolled his eyes and gave Draco a kiss before saying, "Come on. Let's go get something to eat, and you can take a nap while I try to figure out where Bagman is."

"If I were you, I'd check all the places you'd normally be too afraid to go into."

"That was the general idea." Harry hesitated. "Draco, I want to sleep with you. Really, I do. I just want it to be as special as it ought to be."

"And how special's that?"

"Pretty damn special."

"Noted. Now, let's get some distinctly American food, and I'll point out all the pubs that scare me the most, and then I'll send you into them before coming back here and getting some well deserved rest." Draco took Harry's hand and stood, pulling Harry along with him.

"Thought you didn't do PDA," said Harry, smiling wryly.

"One, I told you that on our first real date, and I was still comfortable lying then, and two, why's it matter? We're in America, land of the free and home of the uncouth."

"You are the reason they think we're too proper here. Stuck up, even."

"And you wouldn't have me any other way." Draco squeezed Harry's hand.

"I suppose that's true. Oi! D'you see that?"

"See what?" Draco asked, looking around the lobby.

"It's Bagman." Harry nodded toward a blond man in a bright green jersey.

"I didn't think anyone could make green look so bad," Draco said with a shudder. "What's he doing here, then?"

"Well, that's what I aim to find out," said Harry. "Is anyone looking at us?"

"Just the concierge. She's checked us both out now. What do you think? Should we give her a show?"

"A what?"

Draco rolled his eyes, turned toward Harry, and nearly snogged the life out of him. Too shocked to be angry, Harry had no choice but to reciprocate, and reciprocate he did, giving, he thought, just as well as he got from Draco. Eventually Draco pulled away slightly.

"If your intent was to get every person within a thousand paces staring at us," said Harry, "then you've gotten your wish. You do realize I wanted to surreptitiously cast a Tracking Charm on Bagman, right? And that's why I wanted to know if anyone was looking at us?"

"How would I know that?" Draco asked. "Also, 'surreptitiously?' What are you, Hermione Granger?"

Harry sighed. "I'm sure Bagman saw us, and no doubt he's already three states away from—"

"Harry Potter!" Bagman's booming voice rang out as he rushed over to Harry and Draco, giving Harry a bone-crushing hug before looking oddly at Draco.

"Malfoy, is it? Heard you got off as easy as I did in the last war!" Bagman laughed heartily and clapped Draco on the back. "And the two of you are together? How many young witches' hearts has that broken?" He laughed again. Draco shot Harry a sidelong glance, looking absolutely terrified. Harry choked back a laugh.

"Quite a few, I imagine," said Harry, slinging an arm around Draco. "How are you doing, Ludo?"

"Good! Good!" Bagman said enthusiastically. "You headed to the Sounders game tonight?"

"Can't say I am," Harry said. "Actually, I'm here looking for you."

Bagman's smile faltered slightly. "What for?"

"This year's charity exhibition game is coming up," Harry said smoothly. "And Britain needs you."

"Do they?" Bagman's grin turned broad again. "Well, if that's all you need..."

"Not quite," said Harry. "We're also going to need you to have a talk with Daniel O'Shea. He's trying to draft someone who's not ... well, not allowed onto the Wasps, and I'm sure you can convince him otherwise."

"Oh. Right. That's not so bad, I suppose." Bagman furrowed his brow. "I have to admit, Harry, I have some apprehension about coming back to London, what with the goblins and all."

Draco groaned. "Have you no regard for the International Statute of Secrecy?"

Bagman laughed and said with a hint of pride, "Never have, never will."

"We can deal with your apprehension easily," said Harry. "Just disguises and glamors."

"Right. That sounds great," Bagman said. "I just need to, um, pack." Bagman began to turn on the spot, Harry grabbed his concealed wand and cast a Tracking Charm, and the jersey-sporting man disappeared as he shouted, "Oh, piss it!"

"That did seem too easy," said Draco as he walked around the room, casting mild Memory Charms on his fellow lobby dwellers. "Where do you think he went?"

"I'll know as soon as he gets there."

"Have you done a Tracking Charm before?"

"No. It's like telepathy, right?"

"Hell if I know. I didn't even know it was real."

"Who would've invented it, then? I know I've heard of it."

"Well, maybe someone read a fic about it."

"Like that would ever happen." Harry shook his head and blinked. "Disney World."

"What?" Draco asked.

"That's where he went. I've heard Florida is hot as dragon's breath this time of year."

"I'll excuse your clunky simile in order to ask how that worked."

"Dunno," said Harry. "Just knew. Guess we'll have to stay at a Disney resort. The Dursleys did that once and even they couldn't complain about it."

Draco shrugged. "I could use a vacation. Another one."

"As could I," Harry agreed as they headed back up to their room with the intent of continuing their adventure gone awry.


	13. Disney World

"Well, this is ... colorful." Draco shaded his eyes with one hand and gripped Harry's forearm with the other. "Where are we again?"

"Right now, I think we're in Adventureland," Harry peered down at a map that was every bit as colorful as their surroundings. "And, as you already know, Adventureland is part of the Magic Kingdom, and the Magic Kingdom is part of Walt Disney World."

"Isn't there a Disney World in California?"

"That's a Disneyland."

"What's the difference?"

"This one's better," said Harry. "At least, that's what Hermione and Dean and the Dursleys all said."

"Why on earth," Draco said, "would all of those people come all the way to America just to visit the two different Disney parks? And why on earth did they all feel the need to share their opinions on the issue with you?"

"No idea. Now, come on, it's a long walk to Fantasyland."

Draco scowled but complied, running his hand down Harry's arm to interlace their fingers. The two of them began their trek around the expansive and altogether overwhelming theme park. Fortunately, it was easy to navigate, especially given the ambiguous power of the Tracking Charm.

"What's in Fantasyland?" Draco asked.

"Dumbo the Flying Elephant," said Harry. "It's got a notoriously long queue, and Bagman's right in the middle of it. Sure, he doesn't care about the Statute of Secrecy when there's only six-odd people around. But in crowds like these, well, even he's not that reckless."

"How do you know so much about Disney World?"

"You're going to laugh at me."

"No, I won't."

"Fine. You will, but I'll tell you anyway. When I was 10, the Dursleys came here and they forgot one of the guidebooks they'd meant to bring along. So since I wasn't with them, I just read it. I read it cover to cover. And I've wanted to come here ever since." Harry looked over at Draco. "Wow, you're really not going to laugh, are you?"

"Why would I?" asked Draco. "That's not funny. That's just sad."

"You would've loved that story when we were 16," Harry pointed out.

"Might've pretended too, but remember, I was already mad for you then."

Harry smiled and squeezed Draco's hand. "You had an odd way of showing it. How old did you say you were when you started fancying me?"

"You already know the answer to that." Draco stopped in his tracks to stare at what looked to be an enormous astrolabe. "What is that thing?"

"I'll tell you if you tell me how old you were."

Draco sighed. "13. I was 13. It was the day Severus taught us about werewolves. The look on your face when he walked into the classroom to teach that day—can't put a price on a look like that. You looked like you wanted to do something horribly destructive. And that was pretty hot, Potter."

"It's Astro Orbiter," Harry said, trying unsuccessfully to keep his face free of dopey smiles. "It's a hub-and-spoke ride, like Dumbo. You get into those little fake rockets—"

"Rockets?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, like astronauts use. Well, not really. They're not colored like that. Anyway, you can make your rocket go up and down as they all spin around the center hub."

"Can we do it?" Draco's eyes were alight, his excitement at the prospect of climbing into a too-small fake rocket with a sticking-prone joystick contagious. Harry knew how to answer Draco's question responsibly—and decided against doing so.

"Yeah. Course we can."

Draco grinned, still a rare sight but becoming less so, and dragged Harry toward the escalator that would take them to the ride. It was like that for several hours, Draco acting like a child for perhaps the first time in his life, Harry pretending to placate him but having just as much fun. They didn't run across Bagman as they traipsed about the park, eating chocolate dipped ice cream treats shaped like Mickey Mouse's head and giant soft pretzels, also shaped like Mickey Mouse's head. But the Tracking Charm was steady on, and by the time the sun began setting, Harry had a plan for how they could capture Ludo.

"So we just keep eating and eating, then?" Draco asked.

Harry swallowed a giant mouthful of macaroni and cheese before nodding and saying, "Yes."

Draco smirked. "That's your plan?"

"No, that's not what I meant, sorry, distracted by the food. It's so good. How did they make it so good? No, anyway, the plan is to stay here at this table where we can see the entrance but the people at the entrance can't see us."

"Right," said Draco. "So do both of us have to be here? Or can I go get more food?"

"How the hell do you eat so much and never gain any weight?" Harry looked at Draco's three empty plates pointedly.

"I'm a metabolic anomaly. It's a buffet, Harry. This is what we're supposed to do."

"What?"

"Keep eating and eating."

"Just go get more food."

"Yes, sir."

Harry shook his head and smiled. He watched as Draco nearly ran into a costumed character. The character (Winnie the Pooh, Harry quickly realized) pulled Draco, who looked as terrified as Harry had ever seen him, into a hug. Though it was hard to drag his attention away from Draco and the bear, Harry did so. Bagman's reservation time was fast approaching, and he should be there any—

"_Expelliarmus_," Harry muttered, pointing his wand under the table toward Bagman. Harry didn't know why Bagman had his wand drawn, but he assumed it wasn't for a particularly good reason, and since it was Disney World, surely a wand flying through a dining room wouldn't draw too much attention, would it? Fortunately, the only person (other than Bagman) who even seemed to notice the wand's flight was a young girl. Harry caught Bagman's wand and grinned at the girl, who smiled back before turning toward another costumed character. This one looked to be a bipedal cat. Harry shook his head. Disney World was a strange and wonderful place.

"Potter, was that really called for?" Bagman approached Harry and Draco's table just as Draco returned with two heaping dessert plates. He put one in front of Harry and kept one for himself, then sat down without acknowledging Bagman's presence.

"Evading a Ministry official, even if it brings them somewhere as utterly brilliant as Disney World, does warrant certain action, Ludo," said Harry. Draco rolled his eyes. Harry nudged his knee against Draco's under the table. "Action like this." Harry held up Bagman's wand. "So, tell you what. You sit down and you eat with us, and then the three of us return to where we're supposed to be."

Bagman sighed and sat down between Harry and Draco. "If you insist on doing this, then can we at least do something more thorough with my appearance? Polyjuice, maybe?"

"Polyjuice takes quite a while to brew, Bagman, and it's not a readily available potion," said Draco.

"Oh, so you did see me here." Bagman laughed loudly. The bipedal cat looked away from the children at the next table over and stared, dead-eyed, at Bagman, who laughed ever louder. "Is the Ministry giving me amnesty or something, then? Is that how you're guaranteeing my safety?"

Draco snorted. "Is the Savior of the Wizarding World not enough guarantee for you, Bagman? Think about what he's offering you. Then think about what you have here. I'm guessing it's next to nothing, that you're living on ill-gotten winnings and those pity pay stubs former Ministry officials get three times a year, just because the Ministry wants to feel like it's doing _something _good, and that really, you'd love nothing more than returning to England and doing the only thing you're good at—talking loudly and enthusiastically about what is, at basest levels, a very silly game—for a handsome salary and at least three _Prophet _stories dedicated to how good it is to have someone like Ludo Bagman back. And to have Harry Potter there with you, well, it's a dream come true. You know it is. You're just too much of a coward to take it."

Harry's, Bagman's, and the waiter's mouths dropped open.

"Maybe I do love you," said Harry.

"You make a lot of very good points, young Malfoy," said Bagman.

"I can come back in a few minutes if this isn't a good time," said the waiter.

"No, actually, we'll take our check." Draco gave the waiter a winning smile. The waiter nodded and handed Draco the check. "And don't leave. Just take this and keep the change." Draco gave back the check, along with far more money than was required. "That was on the Ministry, right, Harry?"

Harry nodded.

"What ministry are you talking about?" asked the waiter.

"Never you mind," said Draco. "You just got what will doubtless be the biggest tip you receive this year, and that should be more than enough for you, should it not?" Draco stood and pulled Harry to his feet. "Come on, Bagman. We've got a plane to catch."

"We do?" Harry asked as Draco led him and Bagman out of the restaurant.

"Well, I'm guessing we will eventually," Draco said. "But I heard that somewhere once and I've always wanted to say it. I don't know where, and I don't know why."

"You're amazing," said Harry.

"It's been said before. Sounds better coming from you, though."

"I'm still here, you know," said Bagman.

Draco looked around the park wistfully. "I'm going to miss this place."

"Next time we'll come just for fun. I promise."

"And you'll invite me along, then, too?" Bagman laughed and Draco gave him a withering look.

"How good are you at wandless magic?"

Harry shrugged. "Alright."

"You know what to do, then."

"Good thinking." Harry looked at Bagman, grinned, and cast perhaps the single most satisfying nonverbal Silencing Charm to ever be cast.


	14. Special

"Haven't seen Zion in a while," said Harry.

"Hm?" Draco didn't look up from the tattered copy of _High Fidelity _he'd pilfered from Harry. The two of them were on the couch in Grimmauld Place's drawing room, whiling away some more of Harry's paid time off.

"I said that I haven't seen Zion in a while." Harry reached over and poked Draco in the ribs. Draco scowled. Harry recognized it as malice-free.

"There are kinder ways to get my attention, Potter," Draco pointed out.

"Yes, but they weren't—oh. Right. I'll try to remember that." Harry ignored the blush rising to his cheeks and the smirk on Draco's face as he tugged the book out of Draco's hands and tossed it on the floor. "You're on page 79."

"Do you not believe in bookmarks?"

"Waste of time. I have a great memory." Harry closed the gap between them, scooting over far enough to rest his head on Draco's shoulder. "Anyway, where is he?"

"Where is who? Oh. Zion. I don't know. The Manor, most likely."

"It sounds like you forgot that you even have a pet."

Draco shrugged his shoulders and slung his arm across the back of the couch. Harry, taking the hint, snuggled closer. Draco kneaded Harry's shoulder with fingers so nimble they would've been frustrating had they been in contact with anyone or anything else. At least, that was how Harry saw it.

"It pains me to say this, but I believe that Zion may not be as useful as he once was," said Draco.

Harry snorted. "Useful? Pets aren't meant to be useful. They're meant to be friends."

"Sap." Harry could practically feel Draco's smirk. "This isn't to say I dislike Zion. He's a fine and noble creature."

"Right. Like Mal," Harry said mock seriously. The dog was on the floor near their feet, gnawing furiously at a length of rope.

"Exactly like Mal. At any rate, though, Zion served his purpose. And I have to admit I'm much fonder of what he led me to than what he provided, in terms of companionship."

"Was that a very Malfoyian way of saying you're glad we're together?"

"What do you think? _Do _you think?"

Harry smiled and looked up at Draco. "Thanks for teaching me how to bargain for an extra few paid days off."

"It wasn't bargaining. You just needed less than three days to actually complete your assignment, and now you have two more and a weekend to debrief. That's all. And you're welcome."

"Well, one and a weekend, really. It's Friday. And we spent all of Thursday doing this kind of thing."

"And what kind of thing is this?"

Harry gestured at Draco and himself. "Loafing. I think that's what Aunt Petunia called it whenever I stayed in bed past 7."

"I'm not sure what she meant by that, but I suppose it's easier to say than listing off all we've done."

"Which is...?"

"Snogging. Reading. Eating, Watching that awful film I had you turn off 15 minutes in. More snogging. Napping. Trying very, very hard to shag and failing bafflingly and miserably every sodding time. Should I go on?"

Harry groaned. "Look, it's not you, it's—"

Draco tugged on a particularly unruly strand of Harry's hair. "I know it's not, and I know what it is, and you know I'll make it special, so let's forget I complained about it, OK?"

"OK." Harry made to stand up and Draco pulled him back down.

"Don't leave. I'm comfortable."

Harry laughed. "I just wanted to make us some ... what meal happens between dinner and pre-bedtime snack?"

"One, 'pre-bedtime snack' absolutely does not qualify as a meal. And two, the meal where you stay here and read to me."

"That doesn't qualify as a meal, either."

Draco leaned down to kiss Harry. "Can it now?"

"I suppose." Harry picked up the book. "Page 79, then?"

"Page 79. He's a bit of an idiot, isn't he?"

"Rob? You think so?" Harry thumbed through the book and got back to where Draco had left off.

"He gets a bit hung up on everything."

"Who doesn't? We—I do it all the time." Harry laid his head in Draco's lap and looked up at him.

"I'll acknowledge that I have a tendency to do the same," said Draco, smiling slightly. "But we're quite a bit younger than Rob. We've got time to fuck up yet."

"I don't want to be one of your fuck ups, Draco." Harry didn't mean to say it out loud, but he couldn't help it. Damn his insecurity. What if Draco forgot about the drawings and Disney and all the sincerity and, fine, pure _happiness _they'd packed into the last little while? Or what if it didn't mean to Draco what it meant to Harry?

Draco rolled his eyes, but the smile remained. "I know you don't. And you won't be."

"I just wish..." Harry reached upward and traced Draco's jawline. "Look, I know not everyone is so upfront with their feelings as I am. And I know you never will be. But I just ... I want to make sure."

"Of what?"

"Of the fact that this might actually be the most satisfied I've ever been with life, and that you feel some of that, too. Or something like that."

Draco sighed. "They should really be calling you The Boy Who Doesn't Believe He Deserves Relationship Security." He pulled Harry's hand away from where it was just far enough to kiss it.

"It's not very catchy."

"I'm not as upfront as you are, no. But I do experience emotion. And I do feel the same way."

"Even the 'most satisfied I've ever been' part?"

"Yes, that especially. But don't tell anyone. I've an image to uphold."

Harry grinned at Draco. "Can we do something else? I mean, don't get me wrong, I love the book, but—well, fuck it, it doesn't have to be that special, does it? Isn't it going to be special enough that it's you and me doing it?" Harry stood and pulled Draco by the hand.

"Here, then? A special first time shag in the drawing room?" Draco raised his eyebrows at Harry.

"Well, upstairs, I guess, would make more sense. I don't know. I've never—"

"Yes, you have."

"Not here, I haven't." Harry paused. "It—this is—was my place. It wasn't ever his."

"You never asked him over?"

Harry shook his head and began walking toward his bedroom. Draco kept pace. "I mean, he's been here, sure, but I was living with him. Then when that was over I came back here and it's home now. Always was, really." Harry smiled wryly. "If 'since I was 15' counts as always."

"So you didn't want to sleep with him here?" Draco asked.

"No, though I'm not completely sure why. It just ... it seemed like I should be serious about a person before we played house here."

"You are aware that we've played plenty of house here, right?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Of course I am." He looked sidelong at Draco, who couldn't mask his pleasure at hearing that. They ascended the stairs hand in hand and Harry walked into his bedroom. Or, as the case may have been, their bedroom, seeing as Draco had seen fit to fill it with ... _things_ when Harry wasn't looking.

"Candles," said Harry. "They're everywhere. And they're levitating."

"That's very observant of you," Draco said. "Now, they would qualify as special, right?"

"Oh, I don't know if the candles would on their own, but the wine and the treacle tart—you found a wine that pairs well with treacle tart?"

"I don't know, you'll have to test that out yourself."

"When'd you set this up?"

"You fell asleep while I was reading," said Draco. "That was about, oh, four hours ago. I'm not bad with the sort of magic required of a housekeeper. Don't tell a soul." He paused. "You didn't answer my question. Is this special enough for you?"

"You were already special enough on your own, Draco Malfoy," said Harry, leaning in for a kiss.

"No." Draco looked mildly horrified. "Not after you said that. Any arousal I could have claimed before is dead and gone."

"Oh, so you're allowed to do something sentimental as this, this with candles and wine and dessert and what looks to be a stuffed skrewt/flobberworm hybrid—where'd you find that, anyway?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Anyway," said Harry, "you're allowed to be all big and romantic, and I can't say a single sentimental thing?"

"That'd be a fair point if you weren't always saying—"

Harry cut him off and, this time, Draco relented.


	15. Ours

"Brilliant, right?" Harry looked over expectantly at Draco, who yawned.

"I suppose it might be brilliant, if you were into that dull, painful, drawn out—"

"OK, fine, no more Aranofsky, then." Harry shook his head. "Honestly, Malfoy, I can't place your taste in films or in music or—"

"In men? Neither can I," said Draco. He slid his arm around Harry's shoulder and did that _thing _he always did, the thing with the kneading and the knuckling and the impromptu shoulder massaging that felt better than anything else in the world. _Well_, Harry thought with a smirk, _almost anything_. The two of them were sprawled out on the couch in Draco's flat, where they'd been spending the better part of three months, work hours and occasional social engagements aside. It was different from Grimmauld Place, much more refined and put-together—more like Draco, Harry supposed. And while Grimmauld Place had a homey feeling Harry wouldn't forget, being with Draco, well, that made just about anywhere feel like home. Not that he'd ever tell Draco that.

"Now, two questions for you," said Draco. "Why are calling me 'Malfoy,' and why on earth are you smiling like that?"

"One, I'm calling you Malfoy because—oh, that's really nice—you get this look on your face that's really quite ... well, let's not say cute."

"Yes. Let's not."

"Let's say appealing instead. And two, I was thinking about sex. With you," Harry clarified.

"Oh. Good. Thanks for clearing that one up. I was sure you were having wayward thoughts about some Weasel or another."

"One day, you're going to stop calling them that, and it's going to be brilliant."

"Keep dreaming, Potter. It's a good look for you. Better than that sorry excuse for a smirk. Oh, and speaking of what you were thinking of—"

"It's already past midnight and we both have to work in the morning."

"Presumptuous, aren't we?" Draco smirked, and Harry was reminded of how much better Draco would always be at certain distinctly Malfoyian things. "I was going to say I thought we should take a break for a week or so, see if the lack of release makes us better at what we do, respectively."

"You're not serious," said Harry, inwardly panicking. Sure, they didn't do it _every _night, but seven nights in a row—that sounded all sorts of excessive. And painful. And sad. Very, very sad.

"No, I'm not," Draco agreed. "But I do like to see this variety of expressions flitting across your face. Let's not say cute. Let's say appealing instead."

"Git."

"Yes, and you find it irresistible."

"Guilty." Harry sighed. "Should we sleep here, then?"

"You can't make it a few steps to our—my—the bedroom?" Draco's face reddened slightly, and he rushed to say, "You're an even lazier sod than I—"

"Our bedroom, is it?" Harry stood and offered Draco his hand. Draco rolled his eyes and took it anyway. "What does that make the bedroom at my house, then?"

"Well, that one's ours, too, isn't it?"

"And when did we start sharing homes?"

"Around the time you kissed me in the back of the Apothecary, I think," said Draco as they entered the—their, Harry supposed—bedroom. "Maybe before that, though. Maybe when I made you breakfast after that night of drinking. Maybe when Zion first climbed or rather glided through your window." He looked at Harry. "But maybe it's been even longer. At least, for one of us, maybe it has."

"It's been a long time, then, hasn't it?"

"As short as a few minutes or as long as a few years or somewhere in between, I suppose."

"Sometimes I feel like I have to read between a billion lines to get what you're saying."

"Endearing, isn't it?"

"Me or you?"

Draco kissed Harry.

"So, both, then?"

"You talk entirely too much, Potter," said Draco, trademark smirk back again.

"That's not an answer."

"You don't always need one."

"I love you." Harry let himself say it.

"I know." Draco paused. "Malfoys don't—" He stopped again to shake his head. "If they did, though, in that hypothetical scenario, then I'd probably love you, too."

Harry pulled Draco into his arms and down onto the bed with him. "I s'pose that'll be enough for now," he said, looking over at the calendar on the wall. It had been 93 days since he'd first drawn Draco a picture, and as far as Harry could tell, that number was only going to get bigger.


End file.
